


All that Glitters

by BlanketFortAvenger



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A Tiny amount of Rhyming, Blessings, Complete, Fae & Fairies, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Glitter, Happy Ending, Hugs, M/M, No Angst, No Smut, Warning: Some Medieval Peasant Accents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25283797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlanketFortAvenger/pseuds/BlanketFortAvenger
Summary: Too late. The innocent seeming kiss blown toward them manifests into a glistening haze. It drifts through the air in a heavy cloud, like gold dust settling upon them. Damn blessing, Geralt thinks, sighing.Jaskier and Geralt are blest by a member of the fae. Only for a witcher, being blest is something of a curse. Jaskier laments that witchers never get to have nice things. May, perhaps, this time be the exception?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 133





	All that Glitters

**Author's Note:**

> This came about with the realization that glitter probably doesn't exist in the Witcherverse, and Jaskier not covered in glitter is a crying shame. Blest is the archaic form of blessed, but personally I like it better. Here, I use it to distinguish the pronunciations of blest (blessed), and blessed (bless-ed).

Too late. The innocent seeming kiss blown toward them manifests into a glistening haze. It drifts through the air in a heavy cloud, like gold dust settling upon them.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Jaskier says astonished, and the bard’s smile is brilliant. “From her kiss, a sparkling mist…” He hums, already crafting a song from the encounter, even as the gold still rains down around them. Damn blessing, Geralt thinks, sighing.

The síth has vanished in the splendid chaos, but Geralt is sure he can hear her trilling laughter echo around them. Jaskier turns to Geralt grinning, but when he sees the other’s gloomy expression, he rolls his eyes. “How has _this_ made you irate?”

“She’s marked us, Jask. This stuff doesn’t just brush off. It’ll take weeks,” Geralt grumbles.

“Marked us? She’s not going to – hunt us, is she? We were perfect gentleman. I performed for her!” Jaskier tries to brush some of the gold dust from his arms, some shimmers as it falls to the ground, but plenty remains.

“Reason enough”, Geralt mutters, but Jaskier only snorts. They both knew that Geralt had listened to Jaskier’s singing just as contentedly as the síth had. The bard is all but covered from head to toe in gold, and when he tips his head to the side, a small pile is shaken loose from his hair. Geralt doubts that his own hair and clothes are any less covered. “No creature is dumb enough to threaten a síth’s blest. I won’t be able to take a contract for weeks,” Geralt explains.

Everything from wraiths to striga would flee from him, and even if the monsters would be too afraid to return to the area for a long while, no proof meant no payment. Jaskier shrugs, and makes a breathy sound that seemed to mean that he wasn’t necessarily concerned. “It also turns humans impotent,” Geralt adds just to hear the bard’s panicked squawk.

“You best be jesting, witcher,” Jaskier threatens as Geralt chuckles. “That aside, I can play at taverns for coin, and we still have some from the last contract, we should be fine for a few weeks”.

“There’s a village not far from here”. Geralt doesn’t explain the real reason that he can’t walk the path while blest. Any monster that fled from him would go on to threaten a different village. A village not already made wary, and more innocent lives would end. He knows Jaskier would understand, but when he looks over at the bard grinning at the dust catching the sunlight, he doesn’t want to spoil his cheer.

They come upon the next village just after dusk, and are welcomed into the tavern by a smiling maid and laughing patrons. It makes Geralt uncomfortable.

“Aye a right pair the two of ye make, come in, and share the blessin, won’t ye?” The woman grins, as she puts her hands on the witcher’s shoulders. Geralt freezes. She leans in, and presses each of her cheeks to his, one then followed by the other. When she pulls away her cheeks are glistening gold. Jaskier’s laugh is unfettered and bright.

“Gladly, fair lady. We seek a room, and a meal”. Geralt is still frozen when an older, grisly looking man, presumedly the innkeeper, walks over to scrutinise them.

“Ye eat an’ drink for free,” the man grumbles. Then, more compassionately than he looks capable of, the man wraps his arms around Jaskier.

“Oh, thank you. You’re too kind”. Jaskier grins at Geralt with both eyebrows raised with his arms still stretched around the shorter man. The man pulls away, clothes and beard now glistening.

As they walk through the tavern to their rooms, men and woman cheer and toast them. Many of them reach out to brush their hands along their shoulders, and not one shies away from Geralt, even when he meets their eyes. When they finally get into their room, Jaskier begins tuning his loot, no doubt expecting a very receptive audience.

“Are they being made to act that way? I don’t care in any case, everyone ought to treat you better, but I know you’d care if they were being influenced”. Geralt shakes his head.

“Fae are respected here; I think they’re being genuine”.

“You do look awfully approachable now,” Jaskier chuckles, before plucking out a playful tune. “Spare a care, and his blessing he’ll share. Golden eyes, golden sheen. Oh, blessed witcher, blest you have been”. Geralt huffs, entertained by the bard’s enthusiasm and general glee at their situation.

Jaskier sings through almost the whole of his repertoire into the heart of the evening. He makes plenty of coin, enough to last them the few weeks until the blessing wears off. Jaskier is astoundingly more light-hearted than usual, and as the strangeness of their reception settles, Geralt relaxes by his side. It’s the most carefree Geralt has felt in a long while. When the bard sits beside him to drink and rest, the tavern remains merry. A group of men striking up in chorus for an encore of one of his jigs.

A woman approaches their table not long after Jaskier has finished his food. Her braid of blonde hair is almost as gold as the blessing. It’s laid over her shoulder and down over the soft curve of her breast. She only has eyes for Jaskier.

“I’m sorry fair lady, I don’t think I could sing another word, but I dare say the fine men over in the corner will gladly accept requests”. She laughs, and it reminds Geralt of the síth.

“My request is not for a song. It’s for you to share a little more of your blessing. Perhaps a little more intimately?” Jaskier chuckles amiably at the woman’s offer, but he can tell by his tone that the bard is going to decline. Geralt would deny feeling anything, but especially the undeserved satisfaction that settles the jealousy he would also deny.

“I have to help wash the gold dust from my friend’s hair here”. It’s the wrong thing to say.

“Ye mean to waste a blessing?!” Another woman shouts, scandalised. A sudden, tense stillness settles heavily in the tavern.

“Ungrateful witcher,” another man spits, and the muttering beings. This is what Geralt is used to, but somehow the scathing looks are significantly worse. He lowers his eyes, trying not to seem threatening, and resolves to retire for the evening before he’s kicked out.

“Yes!” Jaskier’s voice rings out, and the bard is spreading his arms gathering everyone’s attention. “Our witcher here does seem thankless”.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls warningly.

“But! My friend here can’t keep the monsters away if they are kept away from him, now can he?” There are a few murmurs acknowledging the logic in Jaskier’s words, and Geralt begins to relax, but the bard is only encouraged by them. “A witcher’s true blessing is in knowing that every village he leaves behind is safe for a little while longer, and we should feel blest to have them”.

Jaskier turns to look at him with the softest smile, and nothing but admiration in his eyes. Geralt swallows dryly, and does his best to smile back. Jaskier turns back to the crowd with a grin. “So, if you want to help our witcher fight the monsters, please take as much of his blessing as you can. He’ll be even more blest to know that you are all twice as safe”.

“Ye be right,” The serving wench breaks the rest of the tavern’s silence. She walks up to Geralt, and takes one of his arms in both or her hands, running her palms down his forearm. Then, wipes the dust onto her own shoulders until they are glistening. “Be it the gold of a bless’n, or a witcher’n gaze, we all be safer and soun’er un’er it”. Jaskier points exaggeratedly at her, grinning.

“Beautifully put, miss! I shall use that in my next song! With your permission, of course”. The woman blushes, and gives a small nod.

Jaskier strums his loot, and begins playing Toss a Coin, to which the men in the corner cheer and sing rowdily, saving Jaskier his voice. The majority, placated, begin to crowd around Geralt.

Some offer him hugs, others simply pat him on the shoulders, all are smiling warmly, and one man is even a little teary-eyed. After half an hour of petting and kind words of gratitude, the innkeeper tells Geralt that his bath is ready, and he is finally able to excuse himself to his room.

Jaskier returns just as he’s sunk into the steaming water, and begun scrubbing the remaining gold dust from his skin.

“I think I have something that’ll help”. Jaskier brings over his pouch of bath oils, and sure enough their slickness loosens the gold dust easier than anything else Geralt has tried.

“How did you know that would work?”

“Ah. Some of the more, shall we say colourful, ladies of Oxenfurt have a similar dust. It has no other purpose than to look pretty. I always end up wearing more of it than they are by the time we’re through. Here, let me get your hair”.

“Seems like an efficient method”. Vague as it sounds, Geralt worries that he’s being too transparent. Jaskier chuckles as he begins pulling his fingers through Geralt’s hair. Together they manage to devest him of most of the dust, and while Geralt soaks, Jaskier shakes out his clothes while standing half-lent out of the window in his under things.

Geralt sits on the edge of his bed as Jaskier braids his hair, his excuse having been that it would keep the blessing out of it. Jaskier is humming softly, and Geralt finds himself thinking of the Bard’s earlier words.

“Thank you”.

“Pardon?” Jaskier gasps, and Geralt knows full well that the bard heard him just fine, but he supposes that he’s earned this.

“Thank you, Jask. For what you said, in the tavern”. Jaskier huffs, finished with his hair, and sits down beside him placing a hand over where Geralt has his rested on his thigh.

“We both know I’m better at talking us out of trouble. You’d have done the same for me if you’d been able to fix it with steel or silver”.

“I didn’t need saving”. Jaskier makes an offended noise, but Geralt turns his palm up, and squeezes his hand. He doesn’t let go. “You’re the only one that’s ever been able to do it”.

“Well,” Jaskier says, but it seems he doesn’t intend to continue with anything more. He’s turned his face away, and Geralt can see the hint of pink under the gold on his cheeks. Geralt leans in that small distance to speak softly into his ear. As if it were a gift mistakenly given to him, and spoken of too loudly might be taken away. As if the witcher dare not believe that he deserves it.

“If life ever gave me one blessing, it was you”. Geralt watches Jaskier, who doesn’t turn back to face him. He can smell salt. He looks down at his hands and takes comfort in the press of Jaskier’s still in his.

“You, insensitive fool”. Jaskier’s voice wavers quietly. Geralt has to mask his shock at the anger between the bard’s brows. There are tears running through the gold. “You can’t say things like – you don’t get to do this when – when I’m covered in blessing, and, and not allowed to touch you!”.

“Jaskier,” Geralt chuckles, confused and faintly threatened.

“No! You brought this on yourself. I am going to bless you, Geralt of Rivia, and there’s nothing you can do about it”. Jaskier catches Geralt’s free hand when he goes to push the bard away, and links their fingers. It’s harder to hold off an attacker that you can’t touch, and soon Jaskier is leaning over him held up by the force of his hands against Geralt’s. “Give in, Geralt. You’re outmatched”.

“Hardly,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t dissuade the bard’s bright smile. Geralt holds him at bay, at a distance just far enough to gaze his fill. Jaskier’s smile only falls, as Geralt slowly lets him begin to fall forward. Jaskier is stunned into silence and staring at him, as inch by inch Geralt lets the bard lean closer. Jaskier’s eyes only fall closed when Geralt finally lets their lips touch. Jaskier’s are soft. Softer than his fingers through Geralt’s hair, softer than any of the words he’s ever spoken. Geralt breathes his name between their lips, before falling back onto the bed, and pulling Jaskier over him. When he opens his eyes, Jaskier is framed by a shimmering cascade. Gold has been shaken loose all over the bedsheets, and all over the witcher.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters.

“Bless you”. Jaskier laughs into another kiss. Geralt, gods bless him, laughs too.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic was actually it's working title, as a concerning amount of my WIP titles end up being Allstar lyrics.


End file.
